Divine Murder in a Crimson Coated Dream
by K. H. Kelsey
Summary: There once was a boy with a curl in the middle of his forehead, when he was good he was very good, but when he was bad he was horrid.


Rich auburn leaves fell from above as the breeze blew gently through the branches of the maple trees, a shower of red coating the ground with piles upon piles of soft leafy debris. The sky was a deep azure, speckled with puffs of white.

"Ahh…it is so nice out." A young man with a wayward curl let himself fall back into one of the plush piles of leaves, sending the leaves flying upward and floating back down in topaz and ruby waves. One of them came to rest upon his pale forehead, the once many colored world turning into a world in all bright red.

"HEY MATTHEW!" a white hand plucked the leaf away from the man's face and waved it around teasingly in front of his face. The man looked up at a person much like him, his brother Alfred F. Jones. Alfred stood, tapping his sneaker-clad feet impatiently.

"What is it America?" Matthew asked, his voice soft. He was a shy boy and others who shared his elder brother's boisterousness made him feel intimidated.

"I'm hungry man; let's go back to your place." Alfred's stomach growled to punctuate the statement.

"B…but we ate a half an hour ago…"

"What did you say?" He shouted in response.

"N…nothing Alfred..." Matthew's voice shook slightly. "L…let's go home then."

Alfred pulled Matthew to his feet and began walking down the gravel path to Canada's, Matthew's, cabin.

"Wait up!" Canada ran to catch up to America.

"It's not my fault you're not very fast." Alfred replied arrogantly.

"Hey! That's rude..." he mumbled.

They continued down the path and America rambled on about stories of his past as Canada listened and attempted to tell stories of his own.

"One time France tried to…"

"FRANCE! Damn I remember one time he fought a war in the…"

The rest of the time walking was spent with Matthew listening to Alfred's one sided conversation. Soon enough they reached the cabin. It was smaller than most of the nation's houses but cozy and inviting. Alfred loved it cause of it reminded him when his house was just a little log cabin on a prairie. He opened the door, let it slam in Matthew's face, and ran into the kitchen.

"OW!" Canada fumbled with the door handle and stumbled in following him to the kitchen.

"Oh, sorry bro."

"Bullshit." Matthew muttered.

"What did you say?" Alfred inquired.

"MOTHERFUCKING BULLSHIT! That's all that you are to me! You mess with me, fuck with my shit, devour all my fucking food, and you don't give me a fucking moment of acknowledgment?" Matthew hollered at him, "You're not the only one too! All the other motherfuckers at the world conferences aren't any fucking better than you are! You're fat, illiterate, aggravating, pig-headed, and you are a total ass!" Matthew slammed Alfred into the wall of the brick oven by his throat.

"AGH!" America's head hit the bricks head and a crack resonated through the now silent room. He slid down the bricks into a heap on the floor. Red spilt down the back of his neck, globules of lively red blood, "M...m…matthew. I'm sorry..." Alfred's breathing was shallow.

"SORRY DOESN'T CUT IT FOR YEARS OF BEING ABUSED! ALL THE EFFORT I'VE PUT INTO HELPING EVERYONE IS IGNORED! I'M INVISIBLE TO YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! I'M GOING TO USE YOU'RE SWEAT AND BLOOD TO PAINT MY FUCKING FLAG! AND I SWEAR TO GOD EVEN WHEN YOU ARE IN HELL YOU'LL REMEMBER WHEN I FUCKING KILLED YOU!" With that a knife flew out of Canada's pocket and lodged itself in the hollow between his collarbones.

"Agh..." Alfred felt the blood beginning to fill his throat. Matthew twisted the knife in circles till a hole had been completely cut out. Blood was now pouring in thick streams out of Alfred's mouth.

"How does it feel? How does it feel to be killed by someone who is invisible?" Matthew's eyes glowed in dark tones as he relished Alfred's pain. He turned for a moment and seized a nearby white towel and took a basting brush from one of the kitchen drawers and stuck the brush in America's mouth, which was overflowing with gore. Quickly he took the brush out and with on hand he held the dying nation's eyes open, to make sure he saw what happened, as he painted on the towel, two red stripes and a maple leaf.


End file.
